Lady Lazarus
by gracefullyclumsy
Summary: But with no dark druids or evil Japanese fox spirits stripping whatever shreds of innocence she still had left, Lydia made a stunning realization as she sat in front of her best friend's grave on that sunny afternoon: she was completely available.
1. Chapter 1

_Herr God, Herr Lucifer _  
_Beware _  
_Beware. _

_Out of the ash _  
_I rise with my red hair _  
_And I eat men like air._

_-Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath_

* * *

Lydia has always been an admirer of the human anatomy. Specifically hands.

Lydia could tell a lot by a person's hands. For example, Scott's hands were thick, but not meaty. His palms were permanently calloused from many years of lacrosse - something not even his supernatural abilities could heal. When his hands sought contact, he always did so with the entire palm, while touching with just fingers seemed to betray less affection. More space between the fingers indicated a feeling of strength and confidence - she's noticed that ever since Scott's eyes turned alpha-red, the space within has grown as well.

Stiles's hands were relatively large, and Lydia would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about them once or twice before. His fingers, unlike Scott's, were long and slender. They were constantly moving, gesturing wildly, especially while he talked. He always tapped an arrhythmic beat on the desks, twirled a pen between his fingers, or relentlessly bit his fingernails. This is obviously caused by his deeply-rooted state of unrest and anxiety, Lydia rationalized. Nevertheless, it was very bothersome. And she always made sure he knew that when her own hand would quietly reach out in the middle of class to rest upon his, stopping whatever incessant noise he was making at the time.

Lydia grew misty every time she thought about Allison's hands. They were the daintiest she'd ever seen, always closed, always being rubbed together during her final days on earth. Wether this was out of stress or just self-pacification, Lydia could always seem to tell. (Either Allison was very transparent or Lydia was just that good at reading people. She wagered the latter.) But on the occasions that they were open, they were so, so warm. She remembers small, pink contours lining the pads of her fingers - countless hours of practicing her shot, no doubt.

Because of her little dress, Lydia had to sit on her legs in front of Allison's grave, heels discarded soon after arriving. Lydia visited her friend once a week, placed a wildflower she plucked down the road, and told Allison about her week. She seldom cried, just sat amongst the well-kept grass and imagined that her best friend was sitting in front of her as she spoke. Lydia imagined that by now, without a haircut, Allison's dark locks would rest in light curls down the middle of her back. But it really didn't matter how long her hair was, just as long as she kept those side-swept bangs. (Lydia fought her on that before her last annual trim.)

Thinking about these things, no matter how trivial, comforted Lydia. Made it feel like Allison was still here. The harsh reality, however, was when she rose from the ground and drove home by herself.

"Scott's happy," Lydia murmured, shedding her coat when a band of warm sunlight shone through the trees. "He really likes Kira. Not that it looks like either of them are trying to keep it a secret. Stiles is, well, Stiles. He and Malia… huh. Wow, you know, I never realized that I was the only single one until just now."

It was true - Lydia had never truly thought about her relationship status in light of recent events. But with no dark druids or evil Japanese fox spirits stripping whatever shreds of innocence she still had left, she made a stunning realization as she sat in front of her best friend's grave on that sunny afternoon: she was completely available.

She thought back to a time when having a boyfriend was the most important thing to her. Reminiscing on that, she almost laughed. It seemed so unimportant now. She almost kicked herself for all of the wasted years hiding her intelligence behind bright lipgloss and sheer blouses. Granted, she still loved her bright lipgloss and sheer blouses, but there was no need to hide behind anything anymore. She was a banshee. Despite still trying to harness whatever power there was, she knew she had some, and a lot of it. How was there ever a time in her life, she wondered, where she couldn't feel this powerful and still look great doing it?

"It doesn't bother me," Lydia found herself drawing out the words, testing their validity. "That much."

There was a long silence where she scrunched her nose and tried to think about anything other than relationships, because truthfully, Lydia's track record wasn't very impressive. Her first real love turned into a murderous lizard based on a South American myth, then into a werewolf, and proceeded to move to Europe. The rest were flings. As far as Aidan was concerned, it was easier to put him in that category out of fear for opening anything other than her legs for him. It was hard losing someone so brutally, but two people? Unthinkable.

"I just talked to your dad the other day," She paused, feeling a tightness in her chest. "He's not quite ready to come back yet. I don't think Isaac is, either."

But something told her that Isaac wasn't planning on coming back anyway.

"You really do have a knack for hanging around the dead, don't you?"

Lydia's head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice. Standing a safe distance from her seated position on the ground was Deputy Parrish, clad in his uniform. She wondered, did he own any other clothes?

Not that Lydia minded, really.

"The dead don't talk back," Lydia tried to say lightheartedly.

"Most of the time." He countered, an easy smile matching his easy attitude.

Lydia smirked, turning her head slowly back to Allison's grave. "Cute."

"Well, you don't survive two years in the army without having some sense of humor."

Lydia slowly rose, smoothing out her dress, legs cramped from her sitting on them for so long. She made a note to wear pants the next time she visited Allison. She spared the deputy a glance under hooded eyes. He stood at least one head taller, hands shoved in the pockets of his brown jacket.

"The military," Lydia said, as if that one word had answered her questions. "I figured."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows, crossed his arms.

"For staters, your haircut is up to military standards," Lydia began, easily slipping into her haughty attitude. "Your posture is every charm school teacher's dream: back straight, shoulders back, your chin is up. Plus, I don't think anyone without some military experience would be hired for a job like yours in a town like this."

He nodded slowly, approvingly. "That's some impressive deducing. Ever consider a job in the FBI?"

"Between you and me," Lydia approached in small, prowl-like steps. "The FBI doesn't really deserve me."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself." He concluded. The hint of fondness in his voice was not lost by Lydia.

"What are you doing here, anyway? Other than telling me things that I already know." Lydia slid on her shoes, never breaking his gaze.

"Got a call about a public disturbance." He responded, gesturing towards a group of young teens as they disappeared in a blur into the woods.

"One day you get a call about a triple homicide, the next, it's…" Lydia gestured around the quiet, sun-bathed graveyard. "Public disturbance."

"This job definitely keeps you on your toes," He conceded. "Funny how you showed up at the scene on both occasions."

"This time was just a coincidence."

"And the first?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes, but didn't say anything.

There was a thick silence that neither of them pushed to break. Lydia stepped forward, a slow, smoldering fire suddenly pooling in her lower tummy. She clutched her jacket in her hands because they had nowhere else to go, and there was no telling what they would do (or who they would touch) if they weren't already preoccupied. She studied everyone else's hands, but never really her own. And as the deputy of her friend's father stood before her, she wasn't able to read him as easily as she does with everyone else.

Now that, _that_ was bothersome.

He smiled, almost mischievously. "Let me walk you back to your car."

Before Lydia could accept or deny his offer, she felt the light brush of fingers against the small of her back. She jumped, sucked in a small breath of air at the small gesture.

Noticing this, his hand snapped back instantly, but no apology followed.

For a fraction of a second, she realized that this is the first time she's noticed Parrish's hands. It was only a glimpse, as she didn't want to stare too long. But she had to admit: he had really nice hands. They were strong, even in a relaxed state. His, much like Scott's, were fairly spacious between the fingers as they flexed. A good sign, she noted.

But these were just his hands. There was still a lot of him that she needed to explore. And damn if she wasn't going to try.

As they reached her car, he quite awkwardly said, "Here we are."

"I don't know how I would have made it without you, officer." Lydia said, but the words tasted bitter in her mouth.

There was a short pause where he looked at her like he wanted to ask a question, but couldn't find the words.

"Go on, just ask."

"What?"

"Ask me what I am," Lydia could no longer tolerate the sudden tension that hung in the air. "Physic? Fortune-teller?"

Lydia was surprised to see his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. "Okay, I'll ask. What are you?"

She stepped closely, enough to feel the warmth radiating from him. "It's your turn to deduce, deputy. Ever consider a job in the FBI?"

* * *

_So, yeah. I'm jumping on the 'marrish' bandwagon, because those two were lookin hella thirsty last monday night. Anyway, let me know if this is worth continuing! Feedback is always welcome. (And it always makes me smile.)_

_-Soph_


	2. Chapter 2

Lydia woke up on the lawn of the high school.

She realized that when she felt the familiar hands of the Sheriff picking her up from the cold, dewey ground. The air was crisp, the sky was still gray. Her entire body was curled into a stiff fetal position near the student parking lot. She shivered violently, goosebumps cloaking her body in an attempt to keep itself warm in her tiny cotton shorts and t-shirt.

Her feet squished under the dampened grass. Icy-fogged whispers filled her ears. She felt the Sheriff drape his warm, heavy jacket across her quivering shoulders as they made their way to the police cruiser. He leaned down and murmured, "I need to know before taking you to the hospital: is this a Lydia thing, or a banshee thing?"

His breath smelled like mouthwash and coffee. Meanwhile, tiny voices itched in the back of her head.

"If this was a Lydia thing," Through the uncontrollable clattering of her teeth, Lydia's words slurred, "I wouldn't have left the house looking like this."

Stilinski chuckled. Lydia's eyes were so heavy.

* * *

She jerked from her daze at the sound of a voice gently saying, "Hey, try and stay awake for me, okay?"

Melissa McCall stood a short distance from Lydia's upright position on the examination table, one hand gently checking the pulse of her dainty wrist while the other looked at her worn-out watch. She didn't spare a glance to Lydia as she said, "Slow pulse. Hey, Lydia, an you tell me what day it is?"

"It's Thursday," Lydia said groggily, rubbing her eyes. "You're not checking me into Eichenhouse just yet."

Melissa, satisfied with that answer, smiled down at the sheet she was scribbling away on. "Slurred speech, labored breaths, violent shivering. Looks like you have moderate hypothermia, Miss Martin."

"Well, first, we need to get you out of those wet clothes. Put this on," She went to work right away, rummaging through the drawers of the desk, pulling out a pristinely folded hospital robe and tossing on the bed next to Lydia. "I'll bring in some extra blankets and we'll be keeping you hydrated with some warm liquids. I'll come back in a couple of hours to check your temperature."

"Lovely," Lydia deadpanned, examining the completely unflattering piece of hospital garb. "But I can't stay much longer. You know, with school and all."

"Lydia," Melissa said with deeply concerned eyes. "A jogger called the police this morning saying that they found a girl sleeping half-naked on the ground in front of the high school. After the recent series of events, we got a lot of eyes on this hospital, and I can't let you leave in this condition."

"If I didn't go to school every time I had a banshee-related outburst," Lydia said, the frustration boiling under her skin like a fever. "I might as well be studying for my G.E.D. Have you seen my list of absences? I haven't, but I'm sure it's extensive. I know you mean well, but I _have_ to go to school. I need to find some semblance of normalcy in this insanity. And for the record, I was _not_ half-naked."

"Tell you what," Melissa said, putting one hand on Lydia's shoulder. "Get a few hours of sleep, and I can have you out of here before lunch time. I'll let your parents know that you're okay."

Lydia crossed her arms haughtily, titled her chin up, and waited until Melissa softly shut the door behind her. Then she passed out.

* * *

The next time she woke, the sun had fully risen. The usual chatter and noises of a hospital had commenced. A ray of sunlight had managed to reach her bed, where she was curled in a tight, cozy cocoon of blankets. She thought about how her favorite part of the day was just after she woke up, when everything was slow and there were no murmurs in her ears. She used to hate the silence. Now she welcomed it gratefully.

She stepped out of bed and onto the patch of sunlight, fixing the loathsome hospital gown that managed to twist its way around her tiny frame.

"I need my own clothes," She grumbled.

As she reached for the door knob, it began twisting gently in her hand. Immediately, she stepped back with an impatient, throaty noise, waiting to see Melissa's face peeking through the door. What she got, however, had her defensively crossing her arms over her braless chest.

"Can I help you?" Her voice raised an octave.

Deputy Parrish's cheeks turned an adorable shade of red. "Sorry, just checking on you."

"Checking on me?" She said indignantly, hastily ripping a sheet off the bed and wrapping it around herself tightly. "Who told you I needed to be checked on?"

"I heard that you had a nasty habit of escaping," Lydia appreciated how he averted his eyes, albeit with a small smile, while she situated herself. "Stilinski told me to come make sure you stay put."

"Word travels fast around the precinct," She responded darkly. "And trust me, If I wanted to get out, I would have found a way."

"So that's what you are? An escape artist?" When she shot him a grimace, he cleared his throat, asking, "How are you feeling?"

"Dandy," She didn't mean for it to, but the word tasted bitter in her mouth. Honestly, she felt fine. So where was this attitude coming from?

"May I ask why you did it?" He asked carefully.

"Sleeping outside helps me feel one with the earth," Words fell out of her mouth like fire. She kicked herself. "I'm actually surprised. Usually I do my midnight runs naked."

He nodded, lips pressed into a tight line. "I'll leave you alone now."

As he headed for the door, she sighed, "Wait."

He turned. Lydia could almost imagine the scene in his eyes: her standing with a sheet wrapped around herself in a square of light by the bed, hair wild and bright. And she didn't know about him, but she didn't mind the view on her end. It would be foolish of her not to admit how attractive the man was. He was, what, twenty-four? The prime of his life, right? Lydia was seventeen - she wasn't even sure peaked yet.

"You wanna give me a ride to school?"

* * *

"Classic mom," Lydia muttered, looking down at the flowered babydoll dress she wore before returning to the overhead mirror in an attempt to tame her mane of hair. "Drops off clothes, can't be bothered to stay."

Lydia looked over at Parrish. He sat back in the seat, one arm taut on the wheel, the other resting out the window. Seeing as he was too focused on the road, she let her eyes wander back to his arm, studying the veins as they contracted when he gripped the wheel and then relaxed. Sinewy muscles wrapped like cords. Her eyes traveled up his neck, watching his adams apple jump slightly. She noticed that his jaw wasn't as chiseled as Jackson's, not as broad as Aiden's.

In fact, at first glance, he looked pretty average. It was when she looked a little harder that she realized this was not true. The uniform didn't do him any justice, though. By the way the sleeves hugged them, his arms were built, and she was willing to bet that - due to his army service - the rest of him was, too.

"You know, it's not polite to stare," He said easily, eyes not moving from the road.

Lydia smiled despite the warmth radiating from the back of her neck, leaning back into her seat.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"If you must."

"What were you doing at the graveyard yesterday?"

Her smile dropped, and there was a long pause where all she could do was look out at the sky and hope that it would part and sweep her up immediately. "Allison. I visit her once a week."

She looked over to see his lips pursed into a thin line. "I'm sorry, Lydia."

Even though she heard those words so many times that they felt like a dull, white noise in her ears, it somehow felt genuine coming from Parrish. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I can still feel her."

"How so?"

She stopped short at the question, not even realizing that the words had been uttered aloud. She expected them to be met with an awkward silence, because he didn't know Allison like she did, and, honestly, he shouldn't have cared like he seemed to at that moment. To him, she should have been just another name in the obituary who died so young and so tragically.

"I felt her die," Her hand unconsciously went to her stomach, feeling the dull ache of an Oni sword slicing through. "I… felt the life leaving her body… and I don't _want_ to feel her anymore. I don't _want_ to be sad like this anymore. Nobody's ever given me the time to grieve."

She didn't even noticed that Parrish had pulled the car over to the side of the road. Warm tears pricked the corners of her eyes, flowing over almost instantly in heavy drops. "I can't do this without her. I can't do this without her."

"Lydia…" Parrish reached over, taking her tiny hand in his. "I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. Nobody should have to lose someone like that."

She looked down at their enveloped hands. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, no. Don't say that," He shook his head, brought their intertwined hands to his mouth and lightly brushed his warm lips across her knuckles.

At that moment, time seemed to slow at just the smallest touch. Before she could pull away, Lydia found herself leaning across the middle console so slowly that it felt she's been waiting for this moment since they found each other in the Walcott house. Maybe it was just her vulnerability, but she couldn't remember the last time she felt such a slow, tender yearning for someone. Something that wasn't a hasty, quick-fix for her own gratification. No, she wanted to make this last. Because she knew that this wasn't anything but fleeting.

She closed the gap with the lightest kiss. Her tummy flipped at his gasp, then the deep throaty noise that escaped when he was able to register the situation.

Lydia never bothered with inexperienced boys. Jackson always knew his way around her body, but when he pushed her buttons just the right way, it was only for his benefit. She wasn't sure what to expect when she kissed Parrish, but what she got was a taste of the sweetest drug imaginable. The forbidden taste of _I shouldn__'__t have this, but, god, he was good._

One hand tangled in her hair, angled her head for better access to her mouth. It didn't take long for Lydia to surrender herself, parting her lips and relishing in the heat that she had been dreaming about for days. But she tasted his hesitance.

"Lydia," He groaned.

"Shh," She murmured against his mouth, knowing that this was going to be over much sooner than she preferred.

"Lydia," He repeated, taking her face in hands. "I can't do this."

"That's not the libido of someone who can't do this," She said breathlessly, and dove in once more.

She felt him hum against her mouth, felt the internal struggle tense in his neck. She knew the weight of this choice, felt it rest heavily on her shoulders. She knew that her thirst for human contact put him at more of a risk than she cared to admit.

"You aren't thinking straight," He peeled her off his lips reluctantly. "You're upset and you're tired and this really isn't fair to you."

"You know what," She spoke through glimmering, narrowed her eyes, licking her deliciously swollen lips. "I'm not really up for school anymore. Take me home, deputy. I want to take a nice, long, hot shower."

* * *

_So, yes, this chapter kind of sucks. I'm not used to writing anything that isn't allisaac. Despite being on vacation, I wanted to get the next chapter out because everyone was so wonderful in their reviews and idk why you guys even like my writing but I'll keep it doing it anyway. _

_Also, I talked about a theory on tumblr that Parrish is some kind of phoenix (because if he really is Isaac's brother, then he must have came back to life after supposedly dying in combat and then walking out of a burning car in the mid-season trailer and wow i'm so excited for it)_

_Anyway, let me know what you guys think!_

_-Soph_


	3. Chapter 3

_Lydia could count the times she__'__s lucidly dreamt on one hand._

_The first came when she was eleven. She remembered eleven as a time in her life when the tell-tale signs of puberty came in the form of a spontaneous zit, and her only experience with boys were hand-written declarations of love from Stiles hastily thrown in her desk when she wasn__'__t looking. She was still in that stage of her life when reading for enjoyment in public wasn__'__t considered social suicide. _

_Naturally, she devoured every book she could get her little hands on._

_Because of that, her dreams were as vivid as the words on the pages of her science fiction novels. Night after night, she would find herself standing in a dark, rainy alleyway, moonlight glinting off her razor sharp fangs, threatening to tear into the flesh of her human lover. Other times, she found herself tripping down a dimly-lit, never-ending hall in her long robes, wand clutched in hand. And some nights she was the mortal daughter of Zeus, fighting a creature of Tartarus in sheets of rain from the very top of the Empire State Building._

_These dreams were reoccurring, and when Lydia__'__s subconscious finally caught on, her mind had taken the form of, ironically, a wolf. Perhaps this was during the time she had read _Into the Wild, _for she had found herself paw-deep in pale snow at high noon. Her red fur bristled, and a voice in the sky told her that she had been here before, she had lead her pack through this forest opening._

_The second time, she was fourteen. By this age, Lydia had already bypassed a training bra, and stress came in the form of little pink razor cuts and blood-stained undies. As her popularity grew, she stopped raising her hand so much in class, was no longer a regular at the public library. Stiles__'__s love letters turned into looks of longing and constant readjustment of his jeans. Makeup was no longer optional._

_At fourteen, Lydia had learned to use her mother__'__s hair tools. With this skill acquired, she rotated on a schedule. Mondays through Wednesdays, she would straighten her hair. Wednesdays through Fridays were days she would break out the curling iron and go to town. This resulted in massive heat damage, and her fine hair had taken its toll._

_Lydia fell asleep after a particularly bad hair day, and found herself standing in front of her bathroom mirror with a pair of scissors in her hand. Her hair was tragically split at the ends. Frizzed to troll doll standards. Tears pooled from her eyes as she grabbed a chunk of her mane and sheared them with the scissors._

_She cried as the hair floated to the ground like little tendrils of fire and evaporated into the plush, seafoam-colored carpet at her feet. She knew she was dreaming when she looked back in the mirror with puffy, blood-shot eyes and saw that the damage wasn__'__t permanent._

_The third time she had a lucid dream, Lydia was eighteen._

_By eighteen, stress came in the form of a supernatural scream in her throat. Days were made up of trips to the graveyard with hollowed eyes and wildflowers. Her not-so-secret admirer had someone else to hold at night. If the moonlight hit it just right once a month, even the sweetest of faces could turn into a fanged monster. Her heart was locked behind a fortress of ivory ribs, no longer open for business. _

_And by that age, Lydia was done with teenage boys._

_The mortality rate of teenage boys in Beacon Hills was too high for her to be wasting time on a guy with shaky hands who came in his pants at the slightest touch. No, Lydia was confident enough to say that she had too many of those in the past. She could get a teenage boy wrapped around her finger any day. She had her sights set on a more challenging game._

_And the challenger in question happened to be sitting before her in an unfamiliar, dimly lit room. This time, Parrish wasn__'__t wearing his uniform, but a pair of dark wash jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Draped over his shoulder__'__s was a cool, well-worn leather jacket._

_Lydia knew it was a dream. That leather jacket was Jackson__'__s._

"_The jacket,__" __Unable to look at it any longer, she found herself commanding the removal of it with a throaty force. She gestured towards the floor._

_And just like that, he took the jacket off. Feeling a new sense of dominance, she noticed how his glittering eyes struggled to stay on hers. They flickered like light bulbs to her chest, her legs. She reveled in his pink cheeks, how he licked his lips as if they went dry at the sight of her. Lydia didn__'__t remember the last time a man looked at her like that._

_Lydia looked down to see what had gotten him all worked up: there she stood, clad in a pale pink bra with beautiful, intricate lacing. Matching panties were stretched across her narrow hips and barely seemed to cover her bottom. She felt her hair piled on top of her head, loosely pinned with a single clip. And with Parrish looking at her the way he was, she nodded slowly, mouthing an __"__oh__" __like she finally understood. _

_So this is what her subconscious cooked up for her._

_Lydia__'__s hand traveled up to her hair and tore out the clip, letting her heavy tresses fall down her back. Slowly, she closed in on Parrish, letting her hips sway in lazy circles as she did. Hollow drums beat in her ears to every step she took, closer and closer until there was just a breath between her skin and his._

_The deputy__'__s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as Lydia planted her hands on his knees and leaned in, breathing a hot, sweet breath across his lips. She never let her mouth fall onto his skin no matter how much she wanted to, kneeling down between his open legs and feeling her tiny hands rake up his thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his jeans._

_Languidly, she stood, hips still swinging like a pendulum. Through heavily-lidded eyes, she let her hands wander across the map of her own skin, studying every bump and curve like it was the very first time. She swam in the thick heat of the small room, her little footsteps like a low bass vibrating through the floor. The blood under his skin was like lava, and her mind was a thunderstorm._

_Parrish pulled her in by the delicate lace of her panties, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses on the tops of her breasts, letting his tongue slide across the salt of her skin. Hasty hands broke the slow pace, trying to feel every inch of her._

_But before he could think he was in charge, Lydia swatted his hand, wagging her finger with a, __"__Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shirt off.__"_

_He did as instructed, and it was Lydia__'__s turn to stare at his well-defined __—__and well-deserved__— __muscles. Her fingers itched to touch them, to make her mark in the form of a scratch or a bite._

_She circled the chair like a shark circles their prey before an attack, watching how his chest heaved. Bravely, Lydia sat forward on his lap, arching back into his hard body and letting her hips grind slowly. He let out a throaty moan into the crook of her neck, his strong hands sliding across the soft curve of her waist. Smoldering coils of fire burned so sweetly in their wake._

Even in my dreams, he's a perfect gentleman, _Lydia thought with a smirk._

_She took his hands and placed his palms firmly on her chest, demonstrating a slow, rolling movement that made her eyes nearly roll back into her head. The friction of her ass against his jeans combined with those firm, capable hands on her breasts felt like something similar to lighting a stick of dynamite in her belly. And Parrish was holding the lighter._

_Lydia slipped back down onto her knees, looking up through her eyelashes as she unzipped his jeans at an agonizingly slow pace. Through the one layer of fabric left to be removed, one hand lovingly palmed his hardness. He let out a long, slow hiss, letting her work on the remaining article of clothing before his exposing his dick to the cool air. Parrish watched with dark eyes as Lydia__'__s tiny hand gave his length one long, slow stroke, placing a chaste, close-mouthed kiss over his tip._

_It wasn__'__t until she unclasped the pretty bra and peeled off her underwear, throwing the pale garments in the discarded pile, that she felt her center throbbing for him, heat pulsating throughout her entire body with anticipation._

_Parrish looking at her so hungrily made her knees tremble, but the sight of him licking his palm before lightly stroking her sensitive folds nearly made her faint. The three inch gap between them felt like a mile-wide canyon and she felt like she couldn__'__t get close enough to him._

_Green eyes met green, silently looking to each other for approval. Lydia positioned herself above him, sliding down so slowly. Her eyes were shut and eyebrows drawn together. The feeling of fullness overwhelmed her. He sat still regardless, body tense, as she wrapped her arms around his neck like a steel vice and slowly set the pace._

_Lydia was wrapped around the deputy like a pretty pink ribbon on a gift box when he gently lifted his hips up to meet hers. It was met with a small gasp, her nails digging into the muscular flesh of his back. Fire rose in her throat, telling him more, more, more. They both fell into a beautiful rhythm of hips rocking, sweet gasps and murmurs on their tongues._

_When they were like this, whispers in Lydia__'__s mind were silenced. Allison__'__s ghost wasn__'__t standing over her shoulder. Aiden__'__s ghost wasn__'__t on her lips, and Jackson__'__s wasn__'__t in her heart. The fact that they would be later on didn__'__t frighten her like it used to. She wouldn__'__t let it. She had a warmness on her skin and a power in her heart that she didn__'__t have before._

_Small gasps turned into throaty cries as Lydia felt every muscle in her body constricting, threatening to send her over the edge much too soon. Beads of sweat sparkled on her brow, little flyaway hairs matted down to her balmy skin. But all that she cared to look at was Parrish__'__s eyes, blown dark with lust. His hands were everywhere, rubbing her back, cupping her breasts, teasing her clit. Muttering words of encouragement into the crook of her neck._

_Feeling herself climb higher, they both started moving in a frenzy, trying to drink as much of each other as they could. The knot in her belly grew tighter and tighter until she was spinning like a top. Clenching around him, repeating his name like it was a holy scripture into his shoulder until the pressure of skin against skin colored her entire world black._

_He unraveled under her nearly seconds later, riding out their climax for the both of them. Galaxies exploded behind her eyelids. There was a long silence filled with labored breaths and hollow heartbeats, neither of them waiting for the other to speak because somehow words were necessary._

_But the silence was broken by a sharp, bone-chilling wind. Unwilling to let go of Parrish, she watched over his shoulder as a pair of heavy footsteps stepped out of the darkness. A figure, glowing around the edges, came into the dim light, flickering like a candle. Barely translucent. It was Allison. Then her mom, and then Jackson. Peter. Scott. Stiles. Aiden._

"_You were mine first,__" __Jackson thundered._

"_This is wrong,__" __Stiles said._

"_Please, be careful,__" __Scott murmured._

"_Always so ready to strip for the enemy,__" __Peter smirked._

_Then, Allison strode forward slowly, a hole in her belly where the oni sword impaled her. Her skin was drained white, dark circles around her usually bright eyes. Her lips, curled into a scowl, were stained with blood, and when she opened them, ghostly voices began screaming in Lydia__'__s ears._

"_We can__'__t trust him.__"_

_She scrambled out of her seat on Parrish to see blood pouring out in rivulets from a gash across his chest, now smeared across Lydia__'__s bare breasts. She stood, paralyzed in complete horror, watching as the life bled out of him before her very eyes. Over his shoulder, Allison stood with tears streaming down her face, an inhuman mixture of rage and apologies._

_Covering her ears, Lydia begged her mind to wake up from this nightmare. So she did the only thing she could do._

_She screamed._

* * *

_So yeah, this chapter was completely out of my comfort zone, but I hoped I delivered! This chapter is more of a delay until we finally figure out what the hell Parrish actually is. (You can imagine my disappointment of his absence last Monday) Anyway, I can't tell you guys how much it makes me smile when you review with such kind words. I'm totally undeserving, and this is pretty much the only way I can repay you. _

_Like it? Love it? Hate it? Lemme know._

_-Soph_


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